You're a Demigoddess, Hermione
by hannahsoapy
Summary: "Hermione was the daughter of King Menelaus and Helen of Troy in Greek mythology," Hermione said, impatiently. "Is, dear."


Submission for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition Round 11

Prompt: A character gains immense powers.

Optional Prompts: 5. (dialogue) "Wait a minute, what just happened here?", 9. (color) burnt gold, 14. (emotion) anger

Word Count: 1283

A/N: I've followed the myths that claim Helen is the daughter of Nemesis and Zeus, which would make her a full goddess, and Hermione a demi-goddess, just in case anyone was wondering.

* * *

On her birthday, of all days, Hermione woke up sick.

Well, actually, she awoke to the sight of Harry and Ron standing over the armchair she'd fallen asleep in at Grimmauld Place, with very concerned looks on their faces. It was when she opened her mouth to speak that she realized she was not feeling well at all.

"Boys?" she croaked weakly. They exchanged looks over her head.

"We think you're sick," Ron pointed out helpfully, and just as he spoke, a sharp pain lanced through her head.

"Thank you, Ronald," she said. "I don't think I could've figured that one, myself."

She shivered then, despite being beneath a thick woolen blanket and feeling very distinctly hot.

"Is there anything we can get you?" Harry asked quickly. "I think there's a muggle shop round the corner we could nip in under the Cloak."

That was actually their only option. Since they were on the run from the Ministry, they couldn't just walk into an apothecary and ask for a fever-reducing potion. Muggle medicine it would have to be.

Hermione tried to swallow to wet her dry throat, unsuccessfully, and then she spotted the glass of water the boys had already thoughtfully set on the side table. She grabbed it and gulped nearly half of it down thirstily.

"Anything with paracetamol would be nice," she told them once her thirst was satisfied.

"Paracetamol, got it," Harry said, immediately jumping up to grab the Cloak and swing it over his and Ron's shoulders.

"Don't forget to leave some money in the till," Hermione called weakly after them.

They'd almost definitely forget, but at least she'd tried.

She shivered again, and closed her eyes, snuggling down into the warmth of the blanket. It felt quite pleasant now, although it had been blazing hot before. There was a gentle light growing brighter behind her eyelids, too.

Wait. That definitely wasn't normal, even for a fever.

Hermione cautiously opened her eyes to see a gorgeous, softly glowing woman standing in front of her. She had rich, long, dark brown hair, and beautiful, wide eyes that were a luminescent burnt gold.

Her beauty practically took Hermione's breath away, but at the same time, there was something strangely familiar about her, something just there, on the tip of her tongue –

"Mum!?"

"Hello, dear," Helen Granger said sweetly, smiling beatifically. Hermione couldn't help her mouth gaping open.

"But," she said in confusion, "you're supposed to be in Australia." Not to mention the fact that she looked – well, she looked amazing.

Her mum had always been stunning, of course, and her dad always got those funny looks, where people couldn't quite figure out how the two of them had got together. Not that her dad was particularly ugly, but the disparity was there, and to the very rude people who invariably asked, he always told them the truth: they met in dental school.

"Well, I was just in Australia," her mum said. "Excellent spell-work, by the way. I wouldn't have even noticed if I hadn't set myself a reminder for your birthday. I would never miss your awakening!"

Hermione was feverish and confused. So, she said so.

"Of course, you are," her mum tutted. "You'll be alright in a few hours. It happens every time."

"Every time what, mum?" Hermione asked, feeling quite frustrated. "And why do you look like – like that?"

Her mum looked surprised for a second.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, I forgot I hadn't explained," she said. "You do know where your name comes from?"

"Yes," Hermione said impatiently. She was more than a little irritated by the lack of straightforward answers. "Hermione was the daughter of King Menelaus and Helen of Troy in Greek mythology."

"Is, dear," her mum said.

"Is?" Hermione repeated, sharply.

"Hermione _is _the daughter of Helen and Menelaus."

"I – what?"

"I am Helen," her mum said slowly. "And your father is Menelaus."

"No, he's not," Hermione protested, even though she knew, somehow, that her mum was telling the truth. She didn't know what to think about it all, and there was a strange, warm thrumming beneath her skin that definitely wasn't from the fever. She tried to shove away the sensation, but it only kept rising.

"Well, alright, I suppose in this incarnation he's Merrel, but – "

"In _this _incarnation?" Hermione cried, and in unison, a wave of heat coursed through her body, and everything around her flew backwards as if pushed. She hadn't done accidental magic in years, but she did feel much better now.

"Yes," her mother said, calmly answering her question and not even raising an eyebrow at her daughter's outburst. "Everyone reincarnates, but only the divine remember."

Hermione stared at her mum. She was angry with her, for keeping this from her until the last second, but she couldn't help the happiness she felt at seeing her mum again, when she'd thought not even two months ago that she might be sending them to Australia for good.

"Can I do… that?" she asked, waving a hand at her mum's glowing form.

"You're already doing it," her mum laughed, and pulled a small mirror from her pocket.

Hermione leaned forward and looked at herself. The biggest difference wasn't that she was glowing. She was glowing, although not quite as brilliantly as her mum, but it was her eyes that had changed. They were the same burnt gold as her mum's.

"I can turn this off, right?" Hermione asked, thinking that she might not want to tell the boys about this right away. At least not until she'd gotten over the shock herself.

"Quite easily," her mum reassured her. "Don't worry, I'll teach you. The rest, you'll probably remember how to do very soon, when your other memories return."

"The rest?" Hermione couldn't even muster up any surprise that there was more.

"You're a demi-goddess, dear. The position does come with some power, as you've already demonstrated," she said, and then paused, and tilted her head. "Oh. Orestes and your friend are returning."

Hermione sat up straight. "Are you saying _Ron _is –"

"Yes, yes," her mum waved a hand at her casually. "You always end up with him, no matter what Neoptolemus tries to pull."

Hermione had about a thousand more questions now than she had at the beginning, but she could hear the door to Grimmauld Place opening, and the footsteps of the boys clomping in. She looked at her mum desperately.

"Just think of your normal appearance," she said, and as Hermione watched, her glow faded, and her eyes returned to their usual brown.

Hermione took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and thought very hard about her ordinary hazel eyes, and regular complexion. As she concentrated, she felt her mum press a kiss to her forehead.

"Call on me if you need me, dear," she whispered, and Hermione felt her disappearance like a warm draft.

A moment later, Ron and Harry burst into the room.

"Oh, thank you," she said, spotting the box in Ron's hands. She was feeling somewhat better, but she was still just a little achy and warm. She held out a hand for the medicine, but Ron and Harry were both distracted, looking around at the upset room in bewilderment.

Hermione sighed, pulled out her wand, and set the room to rights with an efficient flick. Snatching the box from Ron, she tore it open and popped one of the pills out of its plastic-and-foil case.

"Wait a minute, what just happened here?" Ron protested.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Ronald," Hermione said smoothly, smiling at them innocently. "Could you boys go fetch me some more water? I seem to have run out."


End file.
